Holy to Dogs
by trace-selenium
Summary: *UNDER CONSTRUCTION* Parasite Eve x VTMB. Takes place during the beginning of Parasite Eve 2 and VTMB. Follows plots for both games very loosely as MIST agent Aya Brea teams up with a Camarilla agent to investigate the newest form of NMC outbreaks endangering Los Angeles. LaCroix/Aya /OC semi-love triangle. Later chapters very dramatic.
1. Instigators

I confess that this is a strange crossover. Takes place at the beginning of Parasite Eve 2 and VTMB, following both scripts very loosely. Characters are more or less canon, with some excluded altogether. I'm a little bit new to the WOD as well, so bear that in mind.

Parasite Eve 1 and especially 2 are kind of scary for PS1 games, so if you haven't played them before I give you due warning because they get pretty weird and disturbing. (Parasite Eve 3: The 3rd Birthday, a bastard love-child of Square Enix, will be totally overlooked)

I started working on this about two years ago. I was and still am going for gritty realism, so this is rated M for strong sexual themes, obscene language, gore, mutation scenes depicting various calibers of grossness, spontaneous combustion, references to the bible and all that wholesome, family friendly stuff. I'm still teething insofar as my creative writing skills go, so constructive criticism is welcome. ( as long as you bring cookies)

* * *

_**"And out of the ground the LORD God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air; and brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them: and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof."**_

**_Genesis 2:19_**

* * *

In her usual joking way, her mother once answered that blondes had more fun. As a child, she could not wrap her head around that cliche. She had been asking why some of her classmates never took anything seriously.

Aya Brea spit out remnants of bleached blonde. She was not one to ruminate on anything for very long without good reason. But the sparkling grey mirror reflected newly cropped yellow, sleekly framing her oval face like a bird's nest, and she wondered. Her head felt a bit lighter, it was good to get rid of that which is no longer needed. The hair dresser had even said she looked like a different person, and the young woman was fine with that. The events prior to her moving west still hung out to dry in her heart and mind.

There was a knock at the door.

"Just a minute."

It was not her shy date. He had been early last time, trembling to be near her, bringing gifts and doling out hugs. Had she not been endeared to him so, such behavior would have been cause for annoyance. But the exotic blonde had inherited her mother's patient mannerisms and accepting nature. Cool confidence filled in the chinks in her armor, cynical though she could be, buoying her and leveling out her steely temper. It was easier just to let people be who they were and see how it felt when they came to occupy space in your life.

"Peirce? What the hell?"

"Aya, I would have called but I was in the area when I Hal contacted me. I know your car's still in the shop, so I can drive you to the station."

She crossed her arms. Rubber limbed and casual as ever, agent Carradine was feigning a smile. His chin length, straw colored mop was pulled back and stubble hung like shadow round his pointed chin. But Aya knew their resident technician quite well, and in spite of his wan smirk and eyes sparking good naturedly behind duck-taped, silver glasses, she sense that all was not well.

"Seriously? What is it this time? Another old lady's cat got eaten by the Chupacabra? Last time it turned out to be a fox with mange, Pierce. If it's another case like that then I'm gonna be so-"

"No, it's nothing like that. It's definitely an NMC outbreak. New kind, though. Very strange case, potentially very deadly for the populace."

He shrugged his shoulder toward the parking lot downstairs. Following him wordlessly, she jumped in the old, green Honda civic before he could open the door for her.

Making eye contact, she gave him her best look of concern. It was not something that came easy to Aya, being that she was supposed to be going out to eat that evening.

"You look freaked out."

The lanky, tanned young man jostled the key in the ignition, coaxing the engine to a start.

"Patience, Aya, patience...you will be too."

Noting that the inside of his car was cleaner than usual, she couldn't help but wonder if he had an ulterior motive. The last few times he had come to pick her up, he had cleared it out and scent bombed the duct taped seats with some floral spray. Jodie had mentioned that Peirce had been paying quite a lot of attention to Aya as of late.

_No. Please God, if you still exist. I really don't need another secret admirer._

"So, Aya...boy are you gonna be shocked by what Rupert is about to tell you. I'm warnin' you in advance, ok? You're gonna need to brace yourself because, to be honest, I didn't believe what he told me at first either."

Aya studied the rear view mirror. Her fellow agent's forehead glistened with sweat.

"So you said that we've definitely got an NMC outbreak on our hands, and that these ones are tougher than usual? How is it that?"

Turning the steering wheel sharply, he narrowly avoided an unidentifiable little grey animal.

"Uh, right. They seem to be able to ignite people on sight, rather than just attack them with their physical bodies. Kinda like how you're able to."

"So they are capable of causing spontaneous combustion?"

"Yes, exactly. And get this...they are human."

"What?"

"Yeah. Instead of a rat or a dog mutating into an NMC, we have humans doing that shit now. What's worse is that they seem to be _catching_ the NMC mitochondria as if it were a virus through, ah, an exchange of bodily fluids."

"Sexual intercourse? Oh great! Half the city must be carrying NMC DNA at this point!"

"Well, an effort's already been made effort to look into it. But the transfer isn't through sex, from what we can tell..."

"Are you serious? Well then what do mean? Like saliva? Blood?"

"Rupert will tell you all about that...But yeah, I really can't tell you any more until you actually talk to him in person, ok? I'm just gonna reiterate that what he's about to tell you will blow your goddamned mind!"

Aya fell silent. They passed a low income housing complex. Jaded apartment dwellers observed their speedy passing with angry eyes and taunts that fell silent on her ears.

"Pierce, why can't you just tell me? I mean, if he told you, why do I need my hand held through this?"

"Like I said, Rupert needs to be the one to explain it to you. You'll understand soon."

They arrived at headquarters quickly, in spite of the evening traffic. Aya phoned her date to let him know there would be no need to swing by her apartment. To her surprise, he seemed very complacent about the whole thing.

* * *

**"Only be sure that you do not eat the blood, for the blood is the life, and you shall not eat the life with the flesh." -Deuteronomy 12:23**

* * *

Rupert clapped Aya on the shoulder and nodded grimly.

"Go ahead and take a seat, Aya."

"So, I assume Pierce gave you a quick briefing of the situation?"

"Yeah. We've got human NPCs causing people to spontaneously combust on sight and they're catching the NMC mitochondria via an exchange of bodily fluids. Peirce told me the exchange doesn't occur during intercourse, so I'm assuming the public is gonna be told this is a new strain of virus?"

Rupert was tall and African American. Eagle eyed as anyone she had ever known, he was not one to laugh easily, nor smile freely. His grim determination and crisp, angled frame cut itself out of the drab office environment as if lifted and swathed with the edge of a palette knife. And he was probably the only person out of the entire MIST unit that she trusted fully with her life. That was why he was her partner.

"Right, well, we have another organization handling the testing and all that. Some people will be quarantined, that's for sure. But yeah, that's the gist of it. Human NMC's are runnin around settin' people on fire. Not pretty."

He sat down and propped his elbows on his knees, burying his head in his hands. Chuckling softly, he whistled and scratched his goatee, intense eyes scanning the gray linoleum and office walls painted the color of egg shells. Fluorescent lights whirred and flickered rapidly, coloring them all indefinite sallow shades.

Aya arched an eyebrow quizzically. Rupert Broderick had been able to get right to the point when an outcrop of spider NMCs savaged the local exotic pet store. Rupert Broderick had cut right to the chase when he told her that half of the Bakersfield coyote population was sprouting third and fourth eyes and serrated claws.

"Here's the thing, Aya. I know you've seen a lot of weird shit in a very short amount of time. At this point, nothing much seems to shock you. But this...this is really out there."

"UFOs?"

"Nope. Ready for this?"

"Just tell me Rupert. Whatever it is, I'll believe you. I'll handle it, ok?"

Rupert stood up sharply and scribbled on the whiteboard with an erasable black marker.

"What does that say, Aya?"

Aya blinked several times, mouth cast downward suspiciously.

"Vampire?"

"Bingo!"

Rupert tapped at the whiteboard for emphasis, then turned around to face Aya with hands behind his back.

"So... you're not gonna believe this, Aya, but we've got a new type of nasty on our hands and it's being spread 'round by Count Chocula."

Aya laughed out loud in spite of herself.

"W-what?"

Rupert raised his eyebrows.

"Ever heard of the vampire subculture, where these crazy gothic kids go to underground clubs and suck on each other's blood?"

"I watched a documentary on that, yeah. Pretty disturbing."

"Yeah, well, it seems that there is more to that sorta thing than we thought. Like there is a subculture for misfits that pretend or even believe that they're vampires, and then there is an actual vampire culture."

"Uh-huh..."

"Apparently we've been contacted by agents that consider themselves bonafide blood drinkers. Real vampires-but they prefer the term "kindred"."

"Kindred?"

"Yes, that is the technical name they like to go by. Kindred. _Kin-dred._ Vampire is considered kind of distasteful."

"Ok."

"And... they're pissed off because these fucking NMC's are going around setting them on fire, makin' em spontaneously combust. Apparently this has been happening a lot, and while they apparently have very good connections there isn't much they can do about it because it happens so suddenly."

Aya leaned forward in her chair and raised her hand.

"So what do you mean exactly by _vampires_?"

Rupert made an abrupt show of hands. By his expression, it looked as if some bitter pill had not slid all the way down his throat.

"Like they are actually vampires. They are clinically dead and they_ drink human blood_ to sustain themselves. They don't eat or drink anything but human blood!"

"Now Rupert...come on, this isn't funny. I had to abandon my date for this, ok?"

Her partner rolled his sleeves up and crossed his brown arms.

"Aya, why the hell would I be here on a Friday night just to play a goddamned joke on your ass?"

Aya nodded in resignation. Exactly. Why would he? Everyone knew Rupert didn't play around.

"Rupert, all Aya really wants you to answer is the burning question we all have...do they still shit?" piped a playful, higher male voice.

Rupert completely ignored Agent Carradine. Aya tried to make sense of it all.

"So this must be related to mitochondria? Are they some sort of mutation?"

"No. That's the thing, Aya. They're not mutations. They've been around since way before this mitochondria shit started. They are vampires in the truest sense of the word. And so, obviously, the reason they've contacted us is because even they can't seem to get a handle on this problem, which could mean a lot of hell for them, and a lot of hell for us, too, if we don't do something about it."

"We've basically been informed that if we fuck up, squeal on them or otherwise fail to bring this under control that we will be annihilated. Period. End of story. That's why I'm only mentioning it to you and Peirce, Aya."

"Ok, ok...so why are the NMCs targeting the, uh...ummm..."

"Vampires? Kindred?"

"...yeah, vampires, "Kindred", whatever you wanna call them...and why are they any more vulnerable to NMC attacks than us?"

"I was getting to that. Ok, so from what I've been told these Kindred guys have agents that work for them called..." He scribbled on the whiteboard.

"...ghouls."

"Ghouls? Seriously?"

"It's just a nick-name for them, they're not zombies or ghosts or anything. But the Kindred give their agents some of their own blood, kinda like a drug. Gives them abilities similar to yours, Aya, quick regeneration, some extreme fighting abilities...now of course, vampires gotta eat too. Their guess, as well as ours, is that they've been feeding off of dormant NMCs and transferring the blood to their ghoul agents. It seems that the vampire blood really fucks with their mitochondria, making the cells go in overdrive. And that's what's so strange. All other bodily fluids; saliva, semen, vaginal secretions...they don't seem to pass this strain of NMC DNA. It's only through blood, which makes us all wonder if this was somehow engineered on purpose. The Kindred's guess is that this was a tactic used to get rid of them. Only time will tell."

"So their ghoul agents have been turning on them outta the blue, way faster than those without the NMC blood. You know how it is, Aya, where an NMC can remain dormant for years and then all of the sudden, poof, they're a fucking freak show...So anyway, when a vampire ingests NMC blood and transfers it to one of their ghoul agents, it causes them to turn really fast out of the blue. And get this- they're really fuckin' powerful. Like worse than what you saw at the back east, I think. The main problem has been their blood dealers getting set on fire, which is apparently more deadly for these vampire guys than it is for us. Whereas we might suffer severe scarring and nerve damage, their flesh supposedly just burns up like paper. Weird shit, I know, but surely you've gotta be used to that kinda thing by now."

"But the Kindred are still catching the NMC DNA from someone. Where do they typically get there blood supply? Blood banks?"

"Some of them do, actually! And that's better, because all that shit is monitored. But others like to feed off of live human beings. It seems, however, that when they bite humans they do not transfer the NMC DNA. However, they can catch it by drinking from NMC carriers. And when they give it to their ghouls, well, that's when the magic happens."

From his place in the doorway, Peirce glanced humorously at Aya as she stood up from her chair.

_Wow, Peirce. You weren't kidding._

With a roll of her ocean colored eyes, she turned to Rupert.

"So what's the plan? I assume that I'll be handling this case?"

"Yes, Aya. We've told them a little bit about you. They want you to investigate because you alone have the ability to sense NMCs within close proximity. However, I'm gonna need to stay behind. But don't worry..."

Rupert flipped open his cellp She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

"...you've been assigned a buddy. Guess who he is?"

"Count Chocula?"

"Close, Aya, very close. He is a vampire though, works for their "vampire government" in LA. He's gonna inform you about everything you need to know."

"They have a government? And we don't know about it?"

"They're masters at operating behind the scenes. Absolute masters. But even they can't cover up shit like NMCs going to hell inside a bar, inside an apartment, you know? Plus, it's effecting the human population, their supply and their worst enemy. If normal people started putting two and two together...shit, they'd be toast."

* * *

Hey readers. So I wanted to explain a few things. An NMC is a mutant creature whose mitochondria have gained independence from their cells, gaining the ability to create massive changes within the body. The sort of NMCs popping up are new in that they are human and that their mutant mitochondria are actually being spread via blood exchange. Anyway, wiki Parasite Eve 2 for more information if you are confused. The ones in this story look like the "Stranger" NMCs.

EDIT: However, I must say that there are no canon strains of NMC whose mitochondria are transferred solely through blood and that cause spontaneous combustion in others, or that have anything to do with vampires in general.

Get ready for more weirdness. In the next chapter, we meet Aya's partner and she goes to check out the NMCs that have been preserved in a lab Downtown.


	2. Detractors and Remnants

**"Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong."- 1 Corinthians 16:13**

* * *

Another sky had burnt itself out. Layers of dirty orange were being crushed into the horizon by unforgiving navy clouds. In the distance, streams of cars blinked and slid like dew being pulled down spider webs.

Rupert handed his partner, now of two years and counting, an unfamiliar pair of keys. Aya noticed that the older officer wore no tie or vest today, white oxford tucked neatly into slate grey trousers. As always, his shoes were spotless and shined impeccably.

"These are to the silver Honda. Only car in the garage besides mine and Peirce's."

Aya nodded firmly. They both stood out in front of headquarters, an unassuming, off-white building that looked more like an office building rather than a three story lab or FBI precinct. The silence always spoke volumes. Onlookers would only see two strangers making polite, if indifferent conversation. As officers they knew well that this may yet again be their last meeting. To overly engage one another might only provoke sentiments that could ignite sparks of doubt.

"Thanks again, Rupert."

He waved her off with a square, brown hand.

"Don't thank me, thank Hal. He's the one payin' for it. Anyway..."

Scratching his chin, he smirked. It was a rare show of good humor.

"Your partner asked that you meet him downtown at this lab his people run. Check to make sure you have the address."

She tapped the deep pocket of her black pilot's jacket.

"Already checked. Got it. So, does this guy have a name? Is he really a..."

Chuckling, she shook her head.

"...vampire? Gosh Rupert, it's just that I never thought I'd be asking this, you know?"

Rupert raised his eyebrows and pursed his hard lips, nodding.

"Oh Aya, I know what you mean. But no, they wouldn't tell me his name and I sure haven't spoken with him. They just said for you to call him when you got to the lab."

"Hmmph. Secretive, aren't they? I suppose they have their reasons, seeing that they're dealing with us lowly human beings."

He nodded slowly, his attention on an injured dragonfly sputtering across a curve of clean sidewalk. The length of it's thin body expanded and contracted as it heaved through respiratory holes in it's pale green carapace.

"Yes, that is exactly the feeling I got from them."

Rupert nodded and headed back toward the parking garage.

"Ok, we've had our breath of fresh air, Aya. Let me let you get on with what you've got to do."

They routinely hopped into vehicles assigned to them by their agency, one black and one silver. Familiar cool fire warpped around Aya's spine, her clavicle, ribs, solar plexus. Back when she was with the NYPD, it quickly came to be known that there was great steel in officer Brea. And that was only one reason why she was so damn good at her job.

"When you get back you better refer me to your hairdresser, ok?" His tone was light, but he stared straight ahead cooly as ever.

Agent Brea barked with laughter and slid the key in the ignition. She left first, exiting smoothly into oncoming traffic. Catching Rupert in her rearview mirror, she winked, then turned the corner. They both exited each other's line of sight as quickly as their first handshake.

* * *

**"****_Happy those who seize your children_ and smash them against a rock." -Psalms 137:9**

* * *

Wilshire Blvd. was already slicked with oily night time shadows. Pinpoint stars glittered sparsely amid stray air-planes and their corresponding blinking, red towers, the air was tepid mid-February after dark. Rolling up in front of a grey granite building, the title "Gunther Labs" gleamed in narrow, steel text right above the address number. As far a she could tell, there were no lights on save for the garden lamps beneath a pair of palms near the entrance.

"Hello, this is Agent Aya Brea? I've arrived at Gunther Labs."

Almost immediately, someone poked at the blinds shielding the glass front door. It opened and a man came noiselessly toward her as she exited her vehicle.

He was above average height, maybe five ten. Sharp, clean features and rather large eyes stood out in the faint light afforded by the garden lamps and waning yellow gibbous.

"Hi, I'm Arthur Ramira. I've been assigned as your partner during this investigation."

"Good to meet you, Arthur."

His grip was firm, cool, too smooth. It surprised her when the faintest accent tinged his low, otherwise clear speech. She had expected crisp American English in accordance with the Aryan, clipped features she believed she made out in the dark. Then again, Ramira was Spanish, if she guessed correctly.

"So we're gonna go inside now. I'm assuming your people informed you that we've been running tests on these NMC creatures. The objective is for you to take a look at the specimens we've preserved so that you might know what your up against. Maybe you can tell us a little about them. Hopefully you'll be able to inform us on how to combat these things and anything else you might learn later."

"Ok, sounds like a plan."

Before shutting the front door behind them, he peeked outside briefly. There was literally no one out. The boulevard was silent save for the rustling of palm fronds and loose garbage. Strange for a Friday night, Aya thought.

"I've been told that you have special abilities, similar to what the NMCs have, such as very quick healing time, ability to generate heat?"

"That's right. But I am sentient enough to control those abilities. The NMCs typically have little control over their own behavior. Very few seem cognizant."

Arthur nodded and led her up a flight of metal stairs. They entered a seemingly normal research lab, with a few individuals in white coats thumbing through manila folders and tweaking microscopes.

"Hold on a sec, they're going to open the freezers for us," he said calmly, turning toward her.

Under the sterile lights, the first thing that struck her was his pallor. Somehow, it appeared as if he took great pains to look normal. His hair was deeply golden and cropped military style, flat around his head and slicked forward immaculately on top. Beneath what seemed like powder or the thinnest coat of pale paint she made out a sun tan. Aya guessed that he was in his early thirties, no later.

_He's no Brahm Stoker, like Rupert said. But seriously, the guy could pass for a cancer patient._

"Good to meet you, Aya."

She said nothing, her lips pressing into a thin line. The faintest smirk cut itself out beneath his straight, well bred nose. Disconcertingly tranquil, he observed her with eagle eyes that looked like hard, dark blue lamps, large and cold. He reverberated a sort of lethal serenity that Agent Brea that lulled and inspired fear.

"Mr. Ramira, Ms. Brea. I'll open the freezers for you."

A tall, olive skinned woman of what could have been Middle Eastern descent beckoned impatiently. The newly formed duo followed her through another set of office doors and down a long, tan hallway, brightly lit with high ceilings. The floors were white and gleamed irritatingly.

"As far as we can tell, the creature is experiencing no sign of decay, Ms. Brea. We've been informed that if these NMCs, as they are called, are left to their own devices that they decay very rapidly, yes?"

Aya nodded. The research scientist speedily typed into a security num-pad with nimble, manicured fingers. A harsh clicking sounded followed by the faint "whoosh" of a vacuum, and she opened the two metal doors that simply said "FREEZER" in large, black letters.

"Yes, our team believes they decay at three times the pace of a normal corpse. The reason for this being that the mitochondria remain alive after the rest of the body has died. They continue to produce energy, using the body as a source of food. In a sense, the body still remains slightly alive as the mitochondria work to keep the cells they inhabit moving."

"Now that is _something_, isn't it? I am Dr. Lempel, by the way...Ok, it's right there waiting for us, see?"

Dr. Lempel pointed toward the display table in the middle of the large, cold room. A lump covered with plastic white sheets lay completely prone.

"Are you sure it's dead?" Aya asked.

"Oh yes, we're quite sure it's dead. It started the decay process right away. And it's vital signs were completely down before we put it, er, _her_ in cold storage."

"And you've taken DNA samples, correct? From more than one NMC specimen?"

If the white coated female was listening, it was not apparent.

"From what we've gathered, these rogue mitochondria only spread through the blood. We've looked at them under a microscope and they die off within a few days if anything else is used as a carrier. If suspended in human blood, they remain very active until the blood dies. And we've been informed that when other types of blood are introduced,"

She grinned, shooting Arthur a curious glance. Her celadon irises twinkled maddeningly.

", that these mitochondria go_ absolutely wild_ and multiply very rapidly. Of course, Ms. Brea knows what I'm talking about, right Mr. Ramira?"

"Yes, Aya is fully aware of the situation," answered Agent Ramira , simply.

_Oh God...I feel them moving, as I get closer. _

"The mitochondria are still alive, Dr. Lempel. As soon as you let the flesh reach room temperature the body will resume rapid decay."

Dr. Limpel huffed.

"What? You can tell this by just looking at some sheets? You haven't even seen the body yet, Ms. Brea!"

The woman's speech was clipped, nasal and cool, vowels drawn out sharp and oddly. Her almond shaped, heavily lidded eyes betrayed their amusement as she smoothed her white lab coat.

Aya tilted her head to the side, grappling the researcher's lackadaisal gaze with her own calm, water toned one.

"Have you been informed that I possess abnormal mitochondria as well? Because of this, I am able to sense both normal and abnormal mitochondria within in the bodies of all creatures if I am in close enough proximity."

Pretending as if she hadn't heard the MIST agent speak, Dr. Limpel peeled off the white sheets nearly with all the flourish of a matador.

"Here's our star! Boy she's ugly, wouldn't you say?"

Up until now, Arthur Ramira remained silent. He approached the operating table cautiously.

"So Aya," he said, squinting disdainfully at the twisted mass before him, "what do you think of this?"

It looked as if someone had removed the nose and deeply pushed in the eyes of the once human. A seam of flesh split down the middle of the skeletal face, with another splitting along the jawline and meeting at the overly wide, blackened mouth. Pebbly, thick grey-pink caucasian skin hung loosely and no hair was to be found anywhere on the head or body, save for the faintest of peach fuzz in haphazard places. A deep chest protruded in avian fashion, more flesh seams split at the junctions of grotesquely large, tight pectoral muscles with only the faintest resemblance of human female breasts suspended atop of them.

"Did you guys operate on it at all?"

Dr. Limpet shook her head abruptly.

"No. This is how it looked when we obtained it. We were able to get it in the freezers very quickly because it was killed in an office down the hall."

Aya looked up sharply at Agent Ramira. Closing his eyes and nodding, he proceeded to point at various points of the body. Dr. Limpel opened the rigid mouth slightly with gloved hands, displaying rows of strangely flat, crowded teeth. With Arthur's help, she flipped the body on it's other side for them to look at, then rolled it back over.

"Look at the spine, Aya...See how it has protruded through the flesh like a crest? And the hands and feet are very contorted. See the heels, how the arches are high like an animal's, the fingers and toes fused together? Why the heck is this happening to a human body?"

Aya shrugged.

"It's just the mitochondria doing what they see fit. I don't know why they are mutating in this fashion. What bothers me is that, according to what I've been told, these NMCs are able to generate enough energy to make people spontaneously combust."

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, it's most disturbing."

"Especially for types like Mr. Ramira. They tend to catch fire easily."

Both agents turned to the research scientist. Her heavy, cherry stained mouth hung low and flatly, but her eyes teased.

Arthur turned to Aya.

"So Aya, now that you've seen this thing would you be able to recognize , say, a "dormant" NMC? Like a human that hasn't mutated yet, or that carries the NMC DNA? "

"I'm not sure. It is...unusual. The feeling I get is different than with other NMCs. I think I might be able to if I was in close enough proximity."

"And what about combating them? Even our best people are having trouble with this because they've proven to be_ very_ resilient to damage."

Aya's hand moved to scratch her head(a habit she had picked up from her father) in contemplation, then withdrew. There had been strands of hair scattered all over her new, tan car seats when she exited the vehicle. She had assumed that showering and shaking out her hair would have been enough, but stray bits still clung to her hands and littered her shoulders.

"Well, my abilities may prove effective because I am able to influence their mitochondria directly. I myself have experienced spontaneous combustion forced on me by one particular NMC a few years back, and I was able to resist completely. Other than that, I would recommend immediate decapitation. It seems that the NMCs, like anything else, suffer greatly when the brain is destroyed, although they may still not go down right away."

Hard acrylic nails drummed the steel rail of the operating table.

"And would you say there are any more NMCs in the building, Ms. Brea?"

"I would say that there are none in the room with me right now. None that are alive, at least."

"Well, then a check will be in order before you leave the premises."

"Of course, Dr. Limpel. Wouldn't want any more incidents like this one, now would we?"

"That's right, Ms. Brea. Our work is very delicate. We can't have one of our own turning out of the blue and destroying our hard work, let alone taking any lives. Thank God we were able to get this one under control before it did any major damage."

"And how did you do that, exactly."

Arthur stepped forward, powdery, tanned skin curiously absent of goose flesh.

"I happened to be in the building, Agent Brea. I did as you suggested, shooting at the creature's head. But it's body healed quickly and I had to hit it in the chest several times before it went down... I was lucky that it didn't try to set me on fire."

Aya looked thoughtful.

"It may not have had enough energy to do so. If the human body is weak upon first mutation, then the NMC will be weak as well. It would have to eat first then. NMCs have an extremely high metabolic rate, which is an advantage to us in a sense because they do not typically maintain large enough reserves of energy to execute a move like, say, projected internal combustion."

"So they all eat flesh, correct? There have been sixteen attacks documented in total, all of them happening within the last six days. All of them ended up with someone eaten alive or, at best, having a few chunks taken out of them."

"That is correct, Arthur. Flesh is the only substance that seems able to sustain them."

Dr. Limpel examined multiple bullet wounds in the creature's head and chest cavity.

"Yes, thank goodness for Arthur here. Who _knows_ what could have happened if he hadn't saved the day."

Dr. Limpel began to lift the plastic sheets.

"So, have you seen enough? I suppose we could slice into it later, if you want?"

"No, that won't be necessary, Dr. Limpel. Can I ask you, though, what signs did this person show before they underwent the mutation? Were they an employee?"

"I'm afraid I wasn't there when it happened, Ms. Brea. No one was, at least not right before it started. And she seemed perfectly normal up until one of our lab technicians walked in on her midway through the "mutation phase".

Shuddering in disgust, she wrung her gloved hands, attention now focused on the distorted human body beneath her.

"But to answer your other question, yes, it was one of our researchers."

She retrieved a thin leather wallet and handed it to Aya.

"Here is the driver's license, social and that's it. If you find any connections, please let us know. We haven't found any..."

She turned on her heel casually.

"We do assume that they were associating with one of _you_. "

Pointing a finger somewhat playfully at the blonde haired young man, she smirked.

"But if there is any truth to that, no one is telling. Of course, that is very typical. Government agencies of any kind like to keep us in the dark."

Cocking her head, she pursed her dark cherry lips, palm upturned limply. Her limber arms were draped with starchy white cotton, willowy sticks that sacheted with emphasis.

"Too bad, really...seeing that we could be of _so_ much more assistance if we knew the whole story."

Arthur crossed his arms and glared at the tall, slender female rubbing her spectacles. Agent Brea noticed with curiosity that the woman seemed to deliberately avoid his scrutinizing gaze. She squinted weakly and attempted to hide an uncomfortable grimace playing out on her sumptuous mouth. Inclining her head upward avoidantly, the male agent's dark blue eyes continued to follow her own as he leaned forward.

_Now that I think about it...she hasn't looked him in the eye the entire time we've been speaking with her. Weird._

"That is why we do not disclose any information unless we see fit, Dr. Limpel. We do not want any unwarranted "assistance". Any lab scientist knows that sometimes the best work is done alone. One little error, however well meaning, can't be afforded, no?"

Dr. Limpel crossed her arms returned her sliver toned Guccis to the brim of her small, aquiline nose . Her eyes roamed distractedly, examining the freezer room for anything that might be out of it's proper place.

"That's right, Mr. Ramira. Let me show you the door, now, so that you two can continue your investigation."

She stepped outside and gestured politely, standing straight and narrow in her black slacks and black alligator skinned office heels.

"Wait, hold on. You said Arthur was in the building earlier. Do you have any more evidence that we can take a look at?"

"No, there is nothing else except the blood. He was here for other reasons, Ms. Brea."

"So what about the blood you obtained?"

"_We_ do not have it any more."

Aya shooked her head determinedly.

"But you could surely take make samples from the body. I don't understand. I want to look at it under a microscope."

"We are not authorized to do so."

"Then why would they let you keep the body?"

"It is not possible, Ms. Brea! I've given you the victim's identification so that you can look into this further. What more do you want from me? I'm only head technician."

Aya could not read the woman's expression. At best, it seemed annoyed. She wordlessly made her exit and asked her guests to shut the doors firmly behind them. Hard, staccato clicks resounded throughout the bright halls, seeming more alive than anything else.

Lagging slightly behind the research scientist, Agent Brea glanced at Agent Ramira. He rolled his eyes and mouthed something imperceptible.

"There is the room where it happened," stated Dr. Limpel matter of factly, going to open the door to the small, white walled office.

Aya entered the room. It was completely in order and reeked of cleaning fluids.

"I've already looked over it several times, Aya. Anything unusual?" asked Arthur, somewhat tiredly.

Aya breathed deeply and shook her head. Walking carefully around the room, she experienced a tugging sensation around her feet when she came near a pair steel cabinets. She looked down and saw only immaculate, dark blue carpet.

"Did the creature die right here?" she questioned, stamping her foot lightly for emphasis.

"Yes." Both onlookers answered unison, one voice deep and soft, the other high, slicing yawningly through the air. Dr. Limpel crinkled her nose lightly with distaste.

"I can feel it. I think the mitochondria are still alive in the carpet."

Lightly pawing the adjacent walls and metal file cabinets, Aya nodded to herself.

"Yeah, it's here...and here too. Very faint, but they're still alive."

Aya looked up determinedly.

"The dieoff will probably take another twenty four hours. Thankfully, they can't contaminate the water supply."

"That is what we are hoping, Ms. Brea."

Dr. Limpel withdrew her cell and clucked.

"Come on, let me show you out. I've stayed much later than was required of me, and I have to feed my Grouper fish. If I don't feed them on time, I'll come home one night only to find them floating belly up in their tanks, you know? They're creatures of habit."

* * *

EDIT: Made more corrections. Sorry if my writing is sloppy, I am trying to get better.

So what does everyone think so far? I promise it will get more exciting later on. And in the next chapter *drumroll*, Aya will be making a visit to everyone's favorite rogue prince of Los Angeles. Now that will be interesting, won't it?

I look forward to your reviews, thanks for stopping by!


	3. Making the Rounds

The boulevard remained wordless and still. Aya phoned headquarters to ask if a background check had been done on the preserved NMC.

"Strangely, no. We asked and they said that it was confidential. They said they already looked into it and that they weren't worried."

"Who is exactly is "they", Pierce? Do we have any idea?"

"The vampire guys."

She sighed.

"I'm aware of this. But do we have any names yet? My partner says that he has no idea who is handling the DNA."

"They won't give any names, Aya. They just announce themselves whenever they feel like it."

"Well Peirce, one of the head researchers at this lab gave me the NMC's information. She asked me to look into it."

Key strokes spattered in the background.

"I'd double check with her, Aya. What's her name?"

"Dr. Limpel...Ah-"

She glanced in Arthur's direction. His chest did not lift and release with precious breath. He observed the boulevard with lidded, deep set eyes that missed nothing.

"Paza Limpel," he volunteered.

"Right. So it's Dr. Paza Limpel."

An audible pause lapsed as the technician scanned the database. Two grey Mercedes rolled by, their occupants hazy and peering judiciously from behind tinted windows. Aya flinched as Agent Ramira moved to her side.

"Ok, Dr. Paza Limpel. Gunther Labs?"

Aya kept a hand on her holster, observing the luxury vehicles as they crept round the corner.

"Yep."

"Ok, just gimme the info and I'll _ask_ if we can do a background check."

She snickered inwardly.

"Thanks, Pierce. Take it easy."

"Hey, you too Aya! Just don't let your new partner bite you, ok? That's Rupert's job."

"Oh God. Bye Pierce."

Agent Ramira tapped a black dress shoe, olive green slacks shuffling silkily as he eyed Agent Brea's car with disapproval.

"_Silver_?"

Circling the new vehicle, she inspected the paint from various angles.

"Yeah, it sticks out a bit. I don't know why they gave me a silver one, but at least it's not that "bright white" silver."

Bathed in harsh yellow light, Aya continuously eyed the street corner. Legions of dust motes fluttered in insentient migration. Two entangled insects cut through and divebombed into the gutter, their buzzing, fruitless struggle hung tinny between her ears.

"What about those guys?"

Ramira shrugged, lithe muscular arms swaying at his sides.

"Pretty sure they were just lost. Anyway, we'll take my car."

He thumbed tersely toward the lab.

"Park yours in the back."

"Yes, I was about to do that," stated Aya, slow and measured. Her eyes took on a shrewd cast. She hoped that he was not one of those macho types, although it would not surprise her, especially if he turned out to be as young as he looked. However, from everything she gleaned the guy was strictly business rather than strictly sexist.

_And clinically dead. Can't forget that, Aya. Oh well...at least I'll be the only one taking bathroom breaks, I suppose._

She moved her car to the back of the building. An engine purred as Agent Ramira turned the key in the ignition of a charcoal grey Audi. He leaned over and unlocked the passenger side door.

Aya eased herself in and buckled her seat belt. The interior was dark blue carpeting, immaculate and sterile. Wintergreen faintly emitted from the glove compartment.

"So, I was told that you guys are the one's responsible for passing on the blood to your agents? I assume you've taken samples?"

Agent Ramira acquiesced grimly.

"Yeah, we have. Problem is not so much our agents being infected but our feeding sources."

"I see. And I assume you're monitoring the blood banks you use, any humans you feed from?"

"Absolutely. Every Kindred in the city has been instructed to only feed from approved sources. We hope that they comply, although we are sure that certain individuals will not."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Carelessness. Or..."

He checked his mirrors. Debris crunched beneath his tires as he backed out of the parking space. Aya sensed incoming rain. Palm trees swayed hypnotically behind the parking lot as the wind picked up, cool and sweet.

"...let me just say that there are certain groups in our society that promote chaos, just like with yours. They would gladly spread infected blood. We are trying to keep the situation under wraps from them, but that will be impossible."

Turning the radio off, he continued in low tones, consonants clipped and faintly Spanish.

"I want you to keep your wits about you, Aya. I want you to make it your priority to remain sensitive to anyone that might be potential NMC. We are going to be canvassing this entire city, ok? We will probably be reporting to any incidents that pop up."

"Affirmative."

Ramira maneuvered in and out of traffic like an agile ghost. Colorful members of the downtown population posed and primped on street corners, panhandled and hunched in doorways and shadows cast by establishments mostly unwelcoming to them. More affluent crowds waded through as swimmers would brush past flotsam and jetsam. The stark contrast never ceased to bewilder Aya.

"So those "chaos groups" I mentioned to you, Aya...We call them the "Sabbat". They are extremely dangerous, much more so than any mortal criminal you've encountered. Although they do have mortals working for them, usually ghouls."

_Mortal. So they are "immortal", then? Or just clinically dead?_

"Thankfully, we are doing a pretty good job of keeping them out of our city. As far as we can tell, at least. But they are very nasty characters, Aya, and you _must_ do as I say if we encounter them."

She nodded gruffly, drumming her fingers on the diligently oiled grey dashboard. Fine mists of rain spattered the glass, stop lights bright, smeared red through tadpole droplets moved into reluctant action by wind resistance.

"Alright. I'll follow your lead. I can hold my own pretty well, though. If you've been told anything about my experience back east, you'd understand that."

Ramira's mouth remained a thin, pale gash etched beneath his nose.

"I do, Aya. I do. But this is a bit different. Do you think you've ever been up against Sabbat before? Vampires in general?"

The fair haired agent stroked her dainty chin. Her large, slanted eyes were steady, penetrating blue in the bipolar dark, all flashing, different colored lights cutting haphazardly against the sheet of night that cloaked the city.

"I don't think so. I've never encountered anyone or anything like you, for example. Your mitochondria feel very strange to me."

"Nothing like that thing, I hope?"

"No, not at all."

Aya leaned back when the Audi jerked to a brief stop. Arthur drummed his hard, square wrist on the horn in abrupt succession. A vengeful finger jutted in their direction, it's owner waving it wildly out the window of a black truck that sped ahead, tires sputtering against the damp pavement.

"Fuck, people can't drive. I hate it. So anyway, I wanted to explain some basic stuff about how our society works. You ready?"

"I'm all ears."

"Ok, so our government is called the "Camarilla". Like your government, it provides us with structure and protection for it's members. All Kindred, as we like to call ourselves, are technically a part of it whether they want to be or not. But some reject the Camarilla and join various factions such as the criminal Sabbat, or the Anarchs, which live up to their name by being anarchistic in nature but generally far less troublesome than the Sabbat so long as we don't piss them off too much. There are also the Independents, which are basically neutral toward the Camarilla but definitely exist outside of it. And then we have the Clans. There are the clans, seven of which belong to the Camarilla officially."

A thoughtful silence punctuated his colorless sermon.

"I belong to Clan Ventrue."

He adjusted the rearview mirror.

"We typically assume positions in politics, business and anything having to do with maintaining order in our society. Our main concern is to ensure that the "Masquerade" is upheld. The Masquerade is a policy that all Kindred must adhere to, lest they be put to death for endangering our society. The Masquerade is simply the process of ensuring that no mortals discover our vampiric nature, that mortals never know any details about our society except in special circumstances such as yours. This means no feeding in public, no betraying classified information, no attracting unwanted attention..."

Arthur glanced in her direction, eyes hard, glass lamps.

"You are expected to uphold the Masquerade as well. I believe you've been informed that your entire team will punished severely if they betray our secrecy."

"I have, yes. It is dually noted."

He inclined his head slightly to the left as he continued.

"Each city typically has what they call a "Prince", which is kind of like a mayor and a judge rolled into one. The Prince has an inner circle known as the Primogen, and they hold a lot of influence of his decisions and the entire city, for that matter. Sebastian LaCroix is the Prince of Los Angeles, currently. We'll be popping in for a quick hello later tonight if all goes well."

The Ventrue agent continued to elaborate briefly on different aspects of his society, the process of siring, ghouling and particularly the supernatural abilities granted to his kind. This was of interest to Aya and she asked several questions about the healing abilities that she also shared in vague fashion.

"Are you employed by Mr. LaCroix directly?"

"Yes. I was his ghoul for six years up until my embrace. He's from back East, I came all the way out here with him and a few others."

"Is he your sire?"

"No. Although I know the guy pretty well, probably more than I'd like to."

Aya looked out the window, strangely bored in spite of the tense circumstances.

"Yeah, _I'll bet_."

Giving her a quizzical look, he unwrapped a stick of gum and popped it in his mouth, chewing mechanically.

"I didn't mean it like that..."

Arthur cocked his head in annoyance.

"Yeah, well, you'd better watch your tone of voice around Mr. LaCroix. He doesn't take kindly to sarcasm, whether intended or not."

"Why do I get the impression that he's not very well liked either?"

"You're right about that. I'll be surprised if someone doesn't knock him off before this year is over, to be honest. Frankly, I don't really care so long as I get paid up until that point. He spends most of his time up in the tower though, so they'd have to go through a lot to get to him."

"He's a Ventrue?"

"Yep. Most Princes are."

They parked in a large garage downtown. Ramira looked her squarely in the eye, inky night and pale cerulean day mirroring one another.

"You understand what we are, right Aya? We are _vampires_. Clinically undead human beings with a variety of supernatural abilities, some like yours. The Sabbat are vampires. And like I said, they are very dangerous. Just stay close, ok?"

Aya nodded.

"Yes, yes, I understand. Like I said, I'm gonna follow your lead."

He got out of the car, sweeping the parking garage for any potential threats. His nostrils widened as he sniffed deeply. Aya half expected him to thrust his nose forward like a dog and scent a trail. Although the thought amused her, she mentally checked herself. After all, Arthur's heightened senses could be the difference between life or death.

"Ok, cool then. Lets just walk around for a bit, Aya. Tell me if you pick up anything weird."

"Got it."

They checked a few local bars and shops, with Aya feeling out for any abnormal mitochondrial activity. They spoke with prostitutes, homeless, city workers and local personalities, all of which adamant that they'd seen or heard nothing out of ordinary. If they had, it could be assumed they were afraid to tell for some reason. But Aya confessed that she sensed nothing unusual.

"Our guys have really done a good job of keeping things on the down low. Any witnesses have probably been interrogated and hushed up already."

Aya could make out a crowd of party goers gathered outside what looked to be a large, blaring cathedral. Agent Ramira pulled out his cell and began to text.

"Confession club. Been meaning to speak with the owner."

Rapid movement tugged at the corner of her vision. Swiveling to her right, she saw that Arthur had already made his way toward the brown hand beckoning from an alleyway next to the rennovated cathedral.

"Hey man, how's it hangin'?"

"Larry, what's up?"

She approached cautiously, eyeing the large, white van the stranger had positioned himself against. He could have been any guy. Heavyset, his skin was dark, he wore a basketball jersey, afro bobbing as he spoke.

"Nuthin' much, nuthin' much. Jus' _chillin_... nah what I mean?"

Larry cackled, surveying his surroundings from behind undoubtedly expensive shades, never dropping the easy, lopsided grin plastered on his amiable, roundish face.

"An' who do I have the pleasure a' meetin' here, missy?"

Somewhat crooked yet gleaming white teeth flashed momentarily. It was the first time Aya had seen her partner smile.

"Calm down, calm down... This is my partner, Aya. Listen Larry, I need to tell you something..."

Arthur leaned in and spoke, his voice hushed.

"Yeah, I heard 'bout dat, weird shit...damn, ok ok! I'll keep my eye on any muthafuckahs dat fit dat description. And I won't be feedin' offa anybody else besides the main man, ya know it. Venus and me, we spoke wit' him the oth' day _an' 'sall goood_. We all been careful."

He scanned Aya from head to toe, averting his gaze a bit quicker than he probably would have liked. Agent Brea assumed that he sensed she was a cop. He made a show of whispering to her partner as he looked in her direction periodically.

"Doesn't talk much, does she, Ah'thah'? You can tell me, c'mon man...she wanna you guys?"

"No Larry. She's special though."

Larry patted the blonde man's arm with the back of his hand, leaning in conspiratorily.

"Special? Mmmn hmmmn. Tell me, man...you been hittin' that?"

"No way, man. She's my partner! You know we don't really do that anyway..." he grunted, placing a hand to his forehead exasperatedly.

Arthur pulled out an envelope and handed it to Larry, who began to open it immediately.

"Not here man. It's all there, c'mon, you know me. I'll be back later, ok?"

Larry nodded lackadaisically.

"I'll have it fo' you by, say, midnight tonight. You don't come by three AM, then you come see me tomorrow night."

"Thanks man."

"You know she's fine, right? I can tell she one bad bitch...mmmn-nnmmm!"

Aya looked over her shoulder as they left for the club.

"I heard that, buddy."

Larry whistled and eyed his gold timepiece. It was going to be a long night, he thought to himself, patting his hip just to be sure.

* * *

"_Arthur, baaaaby!_ Just how are you?"

"I'm good. How are you, Venus? That asshole still bothering you?"

"Is that even a question?"

"My offer still stands, y'know."

"Honey, you don't need that sort of bullshit right now. Don't worry about it, I know how to handle Mr. Potato Head just fine."

Rancorous industrial rock shook the walls of the cathedral turned club. Aya had never been one to barhop or go clubbing, and she was sure she had never been anywhere quite like this. Well, there had been that underground rave she busted while she was still on the force. But that had just been a bunch of stoned, sweaty teenagers writhing to the beat with glowsticks. She glowered as the black clad patrons eyed her with a mixture of lust and amusement.

"So what the fuck's been going on? What the hell happened at Vesuvius the other night? What the hell's been happening all over town?" yelled Venus, propping an elbow on the bar. Arthur leaned in and hollered in her ear.

"Venus, do you think Boris is...you know? Do you think he's is one of those people? Start's with a "g"?"

The club owner looked thoughtful. Her mess of straight razor, bottle black hair was pulled back so tight this evening that her large, black rimmed eyes were more cat-like than human-like.

"Gay? Maybe bi, at best...truth be told I wish he played for the other team so that he would quit-"

"No. That's not what I mean."

Venus blinked. She leaned in more closely, giving him a knowing glance.

"Oh, one of those. Hmmmn, well, I don't think so. But if you want to be sure, I suppose you can pay him a visit?"

"Venus, that crap that happened at Vesuvius is due to people not sticking to their sources, ok? Make damn sure Charles tells you that he is being careful. He'll know exactly what you mean if you ask. In fact, I'd ask as soon as possible."

"Wow, this is serious, isn't it? Yes, he did seem a little on edge about the whole thing...mentioned something about "mutants"..."

Venus eyed her new bartender, a dazed but strikingly pretty, oval faced girl with white blonde dread locks and expensive breasts.

"Say, we should be upstairs talking about this, shouldn't we?"

"I can't right now. Just make sure Charles is being careful."

"Got it, babe. Got it.

Venus pursed her satiny, scarlet lips, squinting her eyes mischievously.

"And who's that there?"

"That's my partner."

As if on cue, Agent Brea approached the bar. Looking up momentarily, she attributed the flickering shadows she had been observing to a cage dancer. Eighteen at best and pale, pink-skinned body luminescent with sweat sheen, her expression was feverish and velvet as young love as she gyrated and ground her pelvis against the iron bars.

"Hi, I'm Aya. Nice club you've got here, Venus," she shouted into her cupped hand, nodding with approval as she made a demonstration of looking around.

"Thank you dearest! But I don't think I've seen you at Confession before, now have I?"

"Nope, it's my first time!"

This reply ellicited a flash of big white teeth from the club owner, undoubtedly delighted by Agent Brea's choice of words. As with Ramira, she looked fairly young. Her deep blue eyes were shrewd, mystical, owl-like.

"Mmnnn, well, something tells me you two are in a hurry, eh? Too bad, party hasn't even started yet. There's always next time, though..."

Arthur patted Venus's arm.

"I personally don't know why Charles doesn't knock that guy-"

Venus shook her head, shushing him with a finger to her lips.

"Don't worry about it, babe. It's none of his business. And besides, he can't be bothered."

They said goodbye and headed for the entrance. Aya startled as manic techno music started blaring, bringing the thrashing goths to a shambling halt on the dance floor.

"That damn DJ. I'm going to shove a stake up his ass," murmured Venus. She surveyed the club. Something told her it would be quiet tonight.

"I kind of like it!"

The beat priestess looked up wearily, expression one of dread. Her new bartender grinned lopsidedly, polishing a glass with a vigor that could produce sand if she rubbed at it any longer.

"Tell me...do they play this shit at Vesuvius, dearest?"

"Oh no way...Ms. VV only plays the classy stuff!"

Venus pinched the bridge of her nose. Suddenly, as if experiencing epiphany, she slammed a well manicured fist down on her bar.

"_Free shots on the house for everybody!_"

Her flaxen, dreadlocked employee pumped a fist in the air, wide, hot pink lips and straight, white veneers flashing boldly with wanton glee.

"Yay, alriiiiiiight!"

* * *

**_"Put not your trust in princes." ~ Psalms 146:3_**

* * *

The newly formed duo scouted the Downtown area, eventually coming full circle. Arthur led her to the entrance of an immensely tall building guarded on both sides by willowy, looming African statues.

"Well, we probably should go see the Prince before we doing anything else. He wanted to speak with us before we pay the Anarchs a visit."

"I take it they aren't his favorites?"

"That's correct. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to frame them for this."

"So they're going to hate us then, I'm sure."

"We'll keep it brief. I've tried to be a fair with them as possible. I don't know how they'll react to you. Anyway, let's go inside. Mr. LaCroix will want to speak with you."

All was quiet save for the resounding echo of their feet striking the glassy floor of the lobby.

"Hey Chunk."

A heavyset security guard glanced up from his lap groggily.

"Oh...well hey there, Arthur! See you've got a friend with you."

"Yep, this is my partner, Aya."

Aya shook the genial faced man's thick hand.

"Nice to meet ya, Chunk."

"Well nice to meet you too, Aya. So you both here to see Mr. LaCroix, I'm guessing? Boy, I sure hope he's in a better mood now. He was awful testy this evening!"

"Was he now? How unusual," responded Arthur patiently, if not rather flatly.

"Yeah, I know! He's usually such a polite guy, but t'night he was cursing up a storm about something or the other...something of his that went missing apparently...well, not that it's any a' my business, but it must be awful important for him tah' throw all those obscenities about like that."

Aya guffawed.

"I suppose Arthur and I will have to make sure he's alright."

Chunk nodded his head vigorously, round, liquid eyes quite earnest.

"Oh yeah, you'd better! Poor guy sounded like he was havin' a mental breakdown. Hmmmn, maybe he's got that version two, rapid cyclin' bipolar disorder or some such thing. Kinda common with those Type-A personalities, least that's what I heard on the Dr. Gill show... Anyway, let me let you guys get on up to see him."

A dinging resounded and they both headed toward the elevator.

"See you later Chunk."

"You take care now, young lady!"

* * *

They stood side by side as the elevator carried them skyward. Arthur lifted a finger thoughtfully, expression reluctant.

"Ummm...I forgot to tell you...don't be alarmed by the Prince's Sheriff. He's very tall and monstrous looking, but he won't bother with you unless Mr. LaCroix gives him the order."

Aya shrugged.

"Oh, I feel _so_ much better now."

Ramira stared at her blankly. Agent Brea could barely suppress a grin. Apparently her partner would be playing up the humourless, secret agent stereotype quite well. That or he was just a really serious guy.

"Thanks for the warning, though. Never hurts to be prepared. Say, what do you mean by Sheriff?"

"He's the Prince's bodyguard. He is also in charge of enforcing the law when physical means are necessary."

Arthur glanced at her a bit worriedly.

"He's really scary looking, just so you know. But don't worry, he won't bother you."

"After all I've seen, it can't be that bad."

"I suppose not," admitted Arthur.

Aya was impressed by the glamorous double doors. She was even more impressed by what she supposed was the Prince's office. Lofty, elaborate ceilings flickered with warm, autumn lights that contrasted heavily with the chill in the air. And yet, this so called prince was nowhere to be found alongside his giant guardian.

Arthur squatted down by one of the fireplaces, neglecting to sit on any of the plush, expensive furniture.

"Let's just wait a minute."

Shouting could be made out in the distance. The voice was male and high-strung, angry.

"That's him."

Arthur stood back up.

"..._I don't care about how you do it! Just make sure it gets here in one piece, already!"_

A man dressed in expensive black strode through the double doors, blonde head swiveling in their direction briefly. Aya swallowed hard as she witnessed the hulking, caped humanoid that plodded behind him. He sat himself down expectantly behind a desk near the tall, arcing windows at the very back of his palace-like office. The vampire wore an expression belaying distraction and vague annoyance, as if some discordant tune for his ears only was looping over and over.

"Mr. LaCroix, this is Agent Aya Brea."

"Hello Mr. LaCroix. It's good to finally meet with you."

She could not place the color of his eyes as they came to focus. She supposed that they were grey, but then they were the palest shade of amber, then they were blue. It was the strangest thing, and as she tried to tear away from them in her modesty she found that her eyes had become sluggish, heavy marbles that rolled reluctantly around in their sockets. The bones in her face buzzed strangely and high pitched, whiny sounds blipped in her ears as if shoddy little radios.

"Yes indeed, Agent Brea. I hope Arthur has adequately explained everything to you. Surely our existence must seem quite a shock even to the likes of you."

Even from her respectful distance, she smelt iron on his breath. It was harsh perfume. His speech was lofty and forceful, now lacking the agitated tone of earlier.

"Yes sir, it is certainly new to me but Arthur has, ah, explained everything in detail."

He clasped his hands together and leaned back slightly.

"Excellent. Have you made any progress at all?"

LaCroix was dwarfed by the monstrous entity known as the "Sheriff", (of whom Aya made brief eye contact with and resolved to refrain from doing so again.) In truth, the prince was not particularly a tall man to begin with, but he gave the impression of being bigger than he really was with his sharp dress and administrative presence. Aya noted that in spite of his supposed age(to her amazement, Arthur informed her that he was over two hundred years old and still "young" by vampire standards),his smooth, white face belonged to a young man's. High, narrow cheekbones that could have been cut from shell framed his face delicately against a square jaw. Unlike Arthur, who was curiously tan yet colorless, LaCroix's lips and eyelids were tinged fading violet-gray. A chill ran down her spine as she was reminded of a hostage her team had recovered too late, a leggy, anorexic girl strangled by extension cords in some wealthy deviant's posh loft in Battery Park.

Aya mentally shook herself out of her reverie.

"We've canvassed a good part of the downtown area and so far I haven't noticed anything unusual. Arthur and I will continue to scout the area until we hopefully find the source of the NMC outbreak."

The prince rolled his eyes.

"Yes, indeed. What a strange occurence. Mutations, aren't they? Our researchers have thus far determined it is all transferred through the blood. As you've likely been informed, we are clamping down on and monitoring all blood donor or research facilities, as well as any known human vessels. All kindred and ghouls alike have been tested and informed to restrict their feeding habits. But it seems that there are still carriers on the prowl."

He harrumphed and picked briefly at his fingernail.

"I'm sure the local Anarchs are at the very least partly to blame for the rapid spread of such tainted blood. And of course, the Sabbat..."

Arthur placed a hand on his employer's desk.

"I agree with everything you're saying, Mr. LaCroix. But we can't forget that it's been strictly Camarilla ghouls that have mutated."

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware of this Arthur. But obviously the blood is being spread by someone unscrupulous. Our researchers believe that it is mostly low borne humans that have been introduced to whatever virus this may be, should it be a conspiracy engineered against us, which it very well may be."

"A conspiracy...maybe it is just a fluke, sir," piped Aya. Both men looked in her direction. As she met their gazes, a part of her mind registered uncomfortably that she was in the presence of two undead, blood drinking predators. How quickly one forgets, she thought briefly, as two pairs of eyes regarded her intently, inky blue lamps and shrewd, chimeric shards of glass.

Aya continued, choosing her words carefully.

"My team does everything in our power to stay on top of anything related to NMCs. We've never found any evidence that mutant mitochondria were been engineered in a lab. Usually the mutation just occurs on it's own..."

_With a little help from **her**..._

"...but it is strange that this type is only transmitted through the intake of blood. Of course, until we're allowed to examine it in our labs we can't-"

The prince waved a pale, cuffed hand nonchalantly.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Ms. Brea. In the mean time, I don't want any more outbursts to occur. We believe that this is an assault on our kind, but until we are able to trace the origins of this mutant, ah..."

Mr. LaCroix looked mildly bothered as he searched for the word. He looked to Arthur expectantly.

"Mitochondria, sir."

"Yes..."Mitochondria", or what have you...we need you to suppress any potential carriers by _force.._."

He leaned forward for emphasis, the curved shoulder pads of his suit encouraging a slightly sinister appearance.

"I have been informed that you alone possess similar mutant DNA , yes? And that it grants you supernatural ability that renders you invulnerable to the arsonist attacks made by these hideous beasts? These..."NMCs"?"

Aya's mind reeled somewhat at his smooth yet inflated use of language.

"Uh, yes... I am able to deflect their attacks. At least, the ones that use mitochondria energy. Like the spontaneous combustion."

"I see. What other abilities are at your expense? Quick healing? What else?"

Aya nodded.

"Yes, I can heal myself very quickly. I can also erect a shield of protection around myself for a short amount of time, I can cause targets to spontaneously combust, I can shoot energy projectiles at them...my mitochondria are abnormal, so they have granted me many unusual abilities. But unlike the NMCs, I am in no danger or losing my sentience and my metabolism isn't any higher than normal."

"Interesting. Well, at any rate, be sure to attract as little attention as possible. Arthur will be at your side, of course...And hopefully, you won't encounter any Sabbat on your travels. I would send more agents to accompany you, but alas, they are busy elsewhere and far too valuable to me at the moment to lose, for that matter. "

"Yes sir."

Arthur placed a hand lightly on LaCroix's desk again, leaning forward casually. Agent Brea was surprised that the Prince showed no objection. She noted a silent rapport between them that seemed to have a positive effect on LaCroix's mood.

"So Agent Brea and I are going to speak with the Anarch community, Mr. LaCroix."

Distaste played about the prince's face.

"Ah yes. I'm sure they'll deny any involvement, coming up with some conspiracy theory that we've engineered the whole thing."

LaCroix eyed her shrewdly.

"If I were you, Ms. Brea, I would take anything they have to say with a grain of salt. They know they're subordinate in this city, and any involvement with this mutation business would be another mark again'st them. Be courteous, listen to what they have to say, but _don't trust them._ They think we're out to get them, you see..."

"Yes, Mr. LaCroix. I will take all of that into consideration."

The prince checked his cell.

"I believe that will be all, Agent Brea. Kindly allow Agent Ramira to escort you out."

Her eyes trailed the violent paintings displayed on every wall, ominous portents of what might yet be.

"And Ms. Brea..."

His silvery, unreadable gaze glossed over her like spinning coins. Again, the strange heaviness that felt as if a hand passed over her face, pulling everything down. For a few seconds, she could not hear anything and she felt what might have been her very blood being pulled toward him like a magnet. In her confusion and discomfort, she found herself distracted by his hair. It was cropped, rich gold that soaked up the light strangely.

"Please heed my advice, for your own safety. The Anarch community will deny any involvement in the matter. Remember this when they preach conspiracy theories from their soap boxes. Happy hunting."

* * *

Aya experienced the odd pulling sensation even as they took the elevator to the ground floor. It was only after they left the building and headed round the corner that she felt like herself again.

"You alright?" asked Arthur, his deep, soft monotone oddly soothing to her faintly ringing ears.

"Yeah...yeah, I guess. It was weird."

"What was?"

Aya shook her head, peroxide blonde weighted down by the humidity in the air.

"When Mr. LaCroix was speaking to me..I can't really explain it, but I felt strange. Is this common?"

"Yeah, he tends to have that effect on people. Don't worry about it, you're just getting used to being in his presence. Anyway, we're gonna go speak with the Anarchs now. C'mon."

The two agents passed several hazmat workers. Arthur explained that there was also and outbreak of some deadly flu, but that it had been deemed unrelated to the mitochondria outbreak. As they approached at the local Anarch headquarters(the "Last Round", a pretty suitable sounding place for Anarchist vampires to hang out, Aya thought), they were immediately confronted by a militant looking woman with flaming, cherry colored hair. She proceeded to root herself in front of the dive bar, eyeing Agent Brea up and down with disgust.

"Who the hell is this? Didn't we tell you that if you came around again that you'd better not bring any of your fuckin' toadies?" demanded the woman, raspy and boyish. Arthur was the very picture of calm, soft and clear in his appeal to her emotions.

"Damsel, this is my partner. We're trying to look into-

"Yeah, I know, I know. You're lookin' into the freaky shit that's been happening."

She leaned forward, adjusting the olive green beret that sat on her head.

"So. Come to blame us, cammy? Who's sent you this time, huh? Elitist Tremere fuck-face Strauss or Marie Anoinette in his Versaille palace?"

Damsel snorted as she pulled out a Black n' Mild and lit it, a grimace that was perhaps spurred by memory rather than her deep inhale playing about her narrow face.

"So what the fuck do you guys do up there, anyway? Put on a show for his gorilla while you prance around in _your little pink tutus?_"

She sniggered and puffed on the cigar.

"Damsel-"

Damsel rolled her eyes.

"Ugh..."

"_Damsel._ I'm not here to place blame anyone. We just want to have a word with you guys. Where is Nines?"

She shook her head vehemently, expelling smoke as she shouted violently at Ventrue agent.

"Bullshit! How the fuck are we at risk from some Cammy mutant ghouls going apeshit? Every single ghoul that's turned has been a Cammy. We're actually _care-ful_ about who we feed from, unlike you bottom-feeding shitheads that just wanna suck the life out of everything. Swear to God, you guys would suck on _roadkill_ if you thought it'd give you that ego boost you guys get from abusing Kine!"

Agent Ramira was completely unmoved. It was as if he had played this little charade too many times to count.

"I need to speak with Nines, ok? I'm not going to twist anyone's story around."

"I don't know where the fuck Nines is at!" The red-head spat her words out as if they were poison. " And it's none of your goddam business anyway cammy, so just fuck off. Beat it, assholes."

Aya stepped forward.

"Now hold on a second. It's just as Arthur said, we're only trying to get this situation under control. There's no need to-"

"Are you a cop, bitch? 'Cause you smell like a fuckin' cop to me!"

Damsel lunged forward, fangs bared. Aya could not help but regard them transfixedly. The vampiress cheesed, her eyes slitting predatorily.

"Yeah, that's right, take a good, long look at these puppies. If you're not careful, you just may find a pair of these stickin' into your little neck!"

Aya felt the familiar coiling in her spine tighten, rooting her into the earth. Deadly calm crept up into her blood.

"I'm an FBI agent."

Damsel rolled her pale eyes wildly.

"Oh wow, so now the Camarilla has the FBI involved? Wow. I knew they were fucking stupid."

Putting her cigar out on the wall, she crossed her arms.

"Listen ghoul, take your prying ass elsewhere, ok? We _don't want_ to talk to you. We don't have_ nothing to say to you_. And if you try start any shit you have my promise that I will personally hunt your ass down and _scalp that bleached rat's nest_ offa your skull!"

"We don't want to start anything with you or anyone else. But we're not moving until we speak with your boy, Nines," reasoned Aya, unperturbed.

"Uh...he isn't here! Do I have to tell you guys twice?"

"Call him then," demanded Arthur, quietly.

The red head's eye's wavered between the two agents for a split second. She shook her head in disgust.

"LaCroix barges into this city and then sends his cronies to _interrogate_ us without even a heads up first. Oh-ho, you're really tryin' my fuckin' patience Cammy..."

Making a great show of reluctance, she flipped open her grimy, outdated cellphone, huffing and puffing until someone answered.

"Nines. You remember Ramira, Cammy agent? He's here with some FBI bitch and he wants to talk to you about that crazy shit that's been happening this week...Yeah, yeah. The ghouls freaking out and mutating...I told him, yeah, of course! They were all Cammy ghouls..."

She re-entered the bar, pacing back and forth. Aya took note of the shabby condition of the building. It blended in comfortably with the scenery, warmed by the fires being stoked by the homeless encampment at the end of the street. Men and women of any imaginable age peered suspiciously from behind musty, oily clothing they had swaddled themselves in, backs bowed and limbs hypersensitive to the faintest wind resistance, as if babies going outside to walk for the first time.

"Are the Anarchs all like this?"

"More or less. Hey, you're holding up well though. My last partner nearly pissed his pants when they threatened to beat us to death."

"She thinks I'm a ghoul."

"Yeah, just let her think that. Don't say anything."

"You'd think she'd be able to smell it. Apparently her cop senses are on point. So much for heightened senses."

"Some are more perceptive than others. Probably all the smoke."

He sniffed, perplexedly blinking.

"You certainly smell _different_ to me."

Slamming the door to the club shut with force enough to break the lock, the red head positioned herself with stocky legs spaced defiantly, bulging little grayish arms linked together in a demonstration of refusal and annoyance.

"He'll be here in fifteen. Stay right fucking here until then."

The Anarch lit a cigarette this time. Aya wondered if she experienced any nicotine buzz, or if it was just habit.

"And don't make any fucking calls or you're both dead," she warned nasally through streams of smoke flooding her nasal cavity. She proceeded to ignore them.

* * *

Hello and thanks for stopping by. I hope this chapter wasn't too boring or weird and that I didn't butcher Fat Larry or Venus too badly. They are such great characters. I will be posting more chapters shortly, and yes, Aya will be meeting with LaCroix again soon. I have to warn you that the storyline will get quite dramatic as the chapters advance. Your applause, suggestions and criticisms are welcome. Have a good night and be on the look out for Sabbat...I hear they're on the prowl for fanfiction readers. ;)


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